The Diary She Carries With Her
by Aikawa Akihiko
Summary: Sometimes Ginny worried about how much she loved how similar Harry was to her Tom.


**Title:** The Diary She Carries With Her  
**Pairing(s):** Ginny/Diary Tom, Ginny/Harry  
**Word Count ** ~1100  
**Rating:** R/M  
**Warning(s):** Sexual content- but don't pull me ! It doesn't get graphic!  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Notes:** Title is a bastardization of a quote from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest: "Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us." Beta-ed by luna_plath. This is my entry for the 2012 fest at hprarefest on LiveJournal  
**Summary: ** Sometimes Ginny worried about how much she loved how similar Harry was to her Tom.

Harry smiled at her with that crooked grin that she loved before he dipped his head to kiss and lick at her neck.

He had found her in the library of number twelve Grimmauld Place. She had moved in to the Black family home with Harry only two months ago- much to her mother's disapproval; she could at least wait until they were married!- and had found that the dark room soothed her. The plush sitting chairs and wall to wall shelves of books had become a welcome respite from the stress of beginning her apprenticeship as a Ward Mistress for Gringotts or the frequent arguments between her and Harry.

It seemed that she and Harry were always arguing over one thing or another. Things had been so much easier back in Hogwarts. Granted, back then they did not have much to fight over. They had only just acknowledged that they liked each other before Harry had run off to save the world. After that, they saw each other every day at the Burrow but remained independent, their decisions and time had been their own. It was proving a lot harder than they thought now that they lived together.

She had always seen him as a thoughtful person, the very image of the brooding hero. She imagined him to be patient and kind and loving; devoted, as he was with his friends. And he was, it was just that he seemed to have the emotional sensitivity of a brick sometimes. She dreamed that he would listen with honest interest in her thoughts, dreams, and fears. That they could talk for hours together and he would comfort her and charm her and _care_.

She ignored the image of a pale dark haired boy, who was _not_ Harry that always appeared in her mind with such thoughts.

The one area they remained more than compatible was in the bedroom, or in today's case, the book stacks. Harry pressed himself against her as she leaned against a wall of books and reached his hand inside of her robe to cup her breast. She arched into his touch and sighed. The scent of dust and old parchment assaulted her nose, the scent of old, well used books, and she felt the familiar light tingle that accompanied the presence of dark magic in some of the more dangerous books found in the Black library.

Instantly, she remembered another old book. She remembered the feel of the tattered old diary pressed to her chest as she held it in her arms in the hallways, the familiar dusty scent wafting up her nose. It had been a comfort in those scary first months away from home. Tom, the boy of the diary- and she had _known_ it was a boy, just as she had _known_ that she needed to always carry the book with her- had talked with her, his elegantly slanted script had offered comfort and sympathy and understanding to an eleven year old girl's troubles. He had _listened_. He had become her best friend and the smell evoked that warm feeling within her every time. "Hello Ginny, my name is Tom" flashed in a perfect scrawl in her mind's eye every time she felt the tingle of darkness on her skin.

She used to feel that tingle whenever she and Harry had touched. She had not noticed it had been gone since after the Final Battle until recently, when she felt the tingles again here in the library.

She found herself developing a fetish for having sex in the library. Every touch and every pleasure seemed to feel _more_ here. She refused to acknowledge why.

Ginny flipped their positions and Harry slammed into the bookshelves with a thump. She let her robe fall from her shoulders, baring her small, pert breasts and pressing them against his still clothed chest. Harry folded his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss, his tongue snaking into her mouth and their teeth clashing. She drank in his moan as she slipped her hands under his t-shirt and scratched his nipples lightly with her fingernails. With a feeling of desperation, she scrabbled at his trouser buttons, while he took the opportunity to rip his shirt over his head. Eagerly she sank to her knees in front of him as she pulled his length from his pants and hungrily sucked him into her mouth. Harry moaned loudly.

Ginny looked up and watched his face. It was her favorite thing about sex with Harry, watching him in the throes of passion. His eyes dilated in pleasure and his green eyes grew dark, black hair ruffled against pale skin, and for a minute, he could have been Tom.

Ginny had never seen a picture of Tom Riddle Jr, the man who became the Dark Lord Voldemort, her only actual experience of the man… beast… thing, consisted of a few scattered moments during the final battle and his subsequent defeat. But Ginny knew what Tom looked like. She knew like she knew everything else about the diary and Tom; she felt it, she saw it. Every time she put ink to the yellowed parchment of the diary, the image of the handsome black haired, brown-eyed boy came quick to her mind. He had smiled at her, his eyes shining with emotion and charm.

She knew now that it had been his soul that had interacted with her, just as she recognized that the diary had been a dark artifact, carefully manipulating her feelings, mind, and body to do terrible things, but that realization never made the feelings she had experienced any less real. She had spent the months of recovering over the summer trying to reconcile her feelings. In the end, she just could not put what she knew about the man with her experience with the memory. Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr was an insane wizard bent on ruling the wizarding world with fear and hate; Tom had just been her friend.

Harry abruptly pushed her from his cock and to the thick Oriental rug on the floor, gazing at her hungrily. She shivered at the expression on his face, dark and predatory, as he crawled up her body. In this moment he was strong and powerful. In this moment he was ruthless and demanding, in this moment he was just like her Tom.

Sometimes Ginny worried about how much she loved how similar Harry was to her Tom, but this moment was not one of those times.


End file.
